


Grow up!

by stupid_drawings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupid_drawings/pseuds/stupid_drawings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is told to grow up and stop playing detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grow up!

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can only finish stories in the winter. Let me know if you spot any major glaring errors, I combed through it, but I'm sure some remain.

“Sherlock, you have just wasted _ten years_ of effort and numerous lives, all to prove you are ever so slightly more clever than the common herd,” Mycroft spat at him in rage. “Why don’t you just GROW UP!”

Sherlock took a calming breath and made sure to keep his face passive as Mycroft stopped pacing to glare down at him.  
“It’s time to grow up and stop playing detective, Sherlock.”

Mycroft gave Sherlock one last piercing glare and then gathered his coat and stormed out. Sherlock was surprised to find John following Mycroft’s exit moments later. At the door, he turned around, face filled with anger and disappointment.

“You know, for once I agree with Mycroft.”  
John turned and left.

Struck silent, Sherlock stood in the center of the room and watched the door slowly close.

 

Sherlock locked himself in his room even though it was clear John was not planning to return tonight. _Staying with his sister_ , Sherlock thought.

Sherlock always had a grasp on reality, but he knew his reality often differed from other people’s realities. Ever since he had met John, Sherlock had found it much easier to judge when his reality veered off track. John had become his own personal compass, helping him navigate the world. He got punched significantly less, for one thing. But if _John_ felt that Sherlock needed to grow up and stop _playing detective_ , then perhaps it was time.

How had John’s opinion become this important to him? Sherlock suspected that at this point, John’s opinion was the highest in the land. And if John wanted him to grow up, if it would give him a chance, he would reorder his own world. By the time Sherlock reached a definitive decision, hours had gone by. It had gotten dark but he was too busy in his own head to switch on a light, so he sat in darkness. Eventually, he reached for his phone.

He dialed and then a moment later he spoke. “Okay, Mycroft, you win. I’m done.”

…

When John got back to the flat the next day, he noticed how quiet it was. After a few hours, he checked Sherlock’s room. No sign of his flatmate.

The next day, when Sherlock had still not turned up, John texted him.

> Sorry. –J

He received an automated response saying the number was unavailable to receive texts. Confused, John tried calling Sherlock. He got an automated message saying that the number was no longer in service.

A spike of fear and adrenaline shot through him. John called Lestrade.

“Greg, it’s John. Have you heard from Sherlock?”  
“No, not for days. I thought maybe you two were off somewhere. I can try calling him if you want.”  
“No, I tried that, his number has been disconnected.”  
“...Shit. That can’t be good, he’s glued to that phone.”  
“Exactly. He has been gone two days, I didn’t really think anything of it because we’d just had a fight. He kind of fucked up a case big time...”  
“Okay, well I will start a missing person’s report and do what I can on this end. Let me know if you find out anything. Oh, and John? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s off on a drug binge. Used to happen every once in a while before you came along. I’m sure he’ll turn up in a few days looking like something you’d find in a sewer drain.”  
John could not think of a response, so he just promised to keep Greg posted. He had not thought about the possibility of a drug lapse.

He got out his laptop and sent off an email to Sherlock. He tried to keep it apologetic and light-hearted.

Soon after he sent the email, it bounced back.

Confused, he tried to pull up The Science of Deduction, but came up with a ‘page not found’ notice.

Trying to stay calm, John got out his phone and called Mycroft.

“Hello, John. Nothing to worry about, Sherlock is fine. He is doing quite well, in fact.”  
“Sherlock is with you?” John asked, relief flooding him.  
“Yes, he is.”  
“What is going on? Why hadn’t he been home for days?”  
“ He has moved out, John.”  
“WHAT?! What do you mean he has moved out?”  
“I mean exactly what I say. You can come ask him yourself, he is in his office.”  
“His _office_?”  
“Yes, his office. It is next to mine. I really must let you go, but do feel free to stop by.”  
And with that, Mycroft hung up.

John sat, staring at his phone.

Sherlock was safe.

Sherlock, apparently, had an _office._  


Sherlock had moved out.

John got up and checked his flatmate’s room. Everything appeared to be in place. He could not see anything missing. The closet was full. Even his coat was still there.

John grabbed his own jacket and headed out, determined to get some answers. He sent a text to Lestrade during the cab ride to keep him updated.

At Mycroft’s offices, he was left in the waiting room for over twenty minutes. The doors opened and Mycroft, trailed by another man, came in to greet him. John shook Mycroft’s hand, then shook the hand the other man offered. It was only after he’d shaken hands that John did more than glance at the other man. But when he did, John’s jaw fell open.

“Sherlock?”  
“Hello, John.”

 

“…Sherlock?”  
“Yes, John?”

John stared. It was Sherlock, alright. Or some incarnation of him.

There he stood, wearing a suit of somewhat old-fashioned tweed and formal cut. His shirt was buttoned all the way up, and at his collar, a tie. Sherlock wearing a tie, John was not even aware Sherlock knew how to wear a tie.

But the part that really had John thrown was the hair. Sherlock’s hair. More specifically, the lack of hair.

Sherlock’s hair had been shorn short. It was the very definition of ‘business cut’. The overall effect, with the hair, the tie, and the suit, was one of a slightly smaller and darker-haired Mycroft. It was one of the most unsettling things John had ever seen.

“Sherlock, what the HELL is going on?”  
“John, please keep your voice down. This is a place of business.”  
“Sorry… Sorry.”  
“Mycroft has set me up with a job.”  
“A job. Okay, but… why?”  
“It was time I took steps to get my life in order and show some initiative.”  
“Wha… What does that even mean?”  
“John, I would love to stay and chat, but I really must get back to work. I do hope we can get together for dinner sometime. Good day.”  
He held out his hand to shake. John just stared at him, then turned and headed for the door, ignoring the proffered hand.

He decided to walk for a bit to burn off steam. He called Lestrade and told him what he had just seen.  
“I don’t know what is going on, but I need your help getting the real Sherlock back.”  
“I don’t know what you expect me to do. If you can’t get your own boyfriend back…”  
“My what? Not you, too! Why do you think I’m Sherlock’s boyfriend?”  
“Well, I just figured… I mean, he referred to you as his _partner_.”  
“He did? Wait, in what context?”  
“I think I’d just called him insane, and he said something like ‘at least my _partner_ thinks I am sane, and that’s all I need.’”  
“He did?”  
“Yeah. I guess I misunderstood. But listen, how am I supposed to help with this?”  
“I’m not entirely sure on this, but I _think_ you just did.”

...

John had formulated a plan to win back the old Sherlock. His first attempt was thwarted, as Sherlock apparently did not exit through the front of the building. John revised his plan, and the next day found him waiting in a parking garage. Unfortunately, John’s plan had to be revised again because Sherlock left with Mycroft at his side, and both men got into the back of a sleek black car. His next plan of attack lacked the element of surprise that his first two plans had, but without his phone number or knowing where he was living, John’s choices were rather limited.

So John scheduled an appointment.

John was not quite sure what Sherlock did, but apparently he was busy, as the soonest appointment he could secure was on the following Tuesday.

So that Tuesday, John made sure to show up early and sat in the waiting room a bit nervously. He felt fairly sure he could get this to work, but there was always a chance something would go wrong and he will be going home with nothing besides a bruised ego. But his plan, should that happen, was to keep making appointments until something happened.

10:30 finally arrived and he was shown to Sherlock’s office. The room had no personality, it was dull and tastefully bare. Sherlock sat at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him. He moved them over and folded his hands on the desk in front of himself, looking at John with polite yet detached interest. John entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“Sherlock, I was wrong and I am sorry. I don’t want you to grow up. I was an idiot and a dick to say that to you and I just want you back.”  
“John, do you really mean that?”  
“Yes, I can’t deal with seeing you like this. You’re like some sort of soulless Mycroft clone.”  
“Oh thank God, I really don’t know how much longer I could stand this.”

John blinked.

Well, that had been easier than John had expected.

John and Sherlock stood up at the same time. Sherlock ripped at the tie at his neck, loosening it enough to pull it off over his head. He threw it across the room where it landed on a potted plant. John approached him tentatively and reached out to undo the top two buttons on his shirt. It brought them entirely too close to each other to be ignored. John looked up at Sherlock and swallowed.

Sherlock minutely angled his head toward John, and John minutely angled his head toward Sherlock. They were both frozen, neither making the move. It was starting to get awkward, and just as Sherlock was about to shift away, John thought _fuck it, I am NOT making another appointment_ and leaned in, giving Sherlock a solid kiss on the lips. Sherlock kissed back immediately. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and deepened the kiss. There was a bit too much tongue, and Sherlock’s arms remained at his side, but Sherlock was leaning in, and John found Sherlock’s lack of skill utterly endearing.  
After a minute more, Sherlock seemed to remember he had arms, and wrapped them around John. After another few minutes, he started to mimic John’s kissing style and ease up on just shoving his tongue aimlessly into John’s mouth.

“Let’s go home,” Sherlock suggested.  
“Shouldn’t you quit first?”  
“You’re entirely right,” Sherlock agreed, then walked over to the generic framed painting of a train that hung on the wall and tipped it so that it fell and shattered on the floor. Then he knocked over the filing cabinet, his chair, and poured his coffee mug out on the carpet.

“Okay, that’s done.”  
John laughed as Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the office. 

...

They caught a cab back to Baker Street and curled up in each other’s arms in Sherlock’s bed. John ran his hand through Sherlock’s buzzed hair.  
“I know, I regret it, too,” Sherlock lamented. “My neck is cold.”

“I can’t believe you let Mycroft do that.”  
“What, run my life? It made him so happy... Glad I could put an end to that. Glad _you_ could put an end to that,” Sherlock corrected himself. He ended the statement with a kiss. “Though, honestly, I don’t know how long I could have kept that up.”

“The fact that you put that much stock in my opinion of you…” John trailed off, still amazed that he had somehow caused all of this.  
“Yes.”  
“Well, I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t feel guilty, it was worth it. I got _you_ out of the whole mess, did I not?” He sounded ever so slightly unsure.  
“I think that you already had me for a while now, I just hadn’t realized.”  
“Oh,” Sherlock responded quietly. “Nor had I.”  
They smiled shyly at each other and leaned in for another kiss.


End file.
